


Idle Hands

by greerian



Series: Blow a Kiss, Fire a Gun [2]
Category: The Prince of Egypt (1998)
Genre: 90s, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Drama, Forgiveness, Gen, Guilt, Ice Cream, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, Past Sexual Assault, Police, Pre-Slash, Slavery, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: "What-?" Tzipporah asks. "Who's this?""Hello to you, too," Moses replies. "Tzipporah, this is... Miriam."Tzipporah stares at her boyfriend's new-found sister; she didn’t get much of a look the first time.





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't tag any major warnings since everything that happened was in the past, but there's lots of shit that went down. Pay attention to the tags. As for characters, Jethro, Tzipporah's sisters, and Aaron are mentioned, but they don't appear so I didn't tag them. Warning for suicide mention in the first paragraph. Lastly, if you have any questions, please comment or come message me on tumblr. 
> 
> I wanted to write this 'cause I had a sweet idea for Tzipporah and Miriam bonding over ice cream. Somehow, that didn't happen. But you can imagine the bonding post-fic, as they get chocolate sauce all over their faces and maybe watch a TV show Miriam's never heard of. 
> 
> This AU is set in the 90s, in Chicago. Tzipporah is a rookie police officer. Miriam and Aaron were abducted as children and lived their lives in slavery. Moses was the adopted son of a rich, corrupt CEO; he ran away from home when he found out about Seti's shady dealings (including human trafficking) and was unofficially taken in by Jethro, a chief of police.

_ "Well damn, Jackie, I can't control the weather!"  _

Tzipporah's glad when the doorbell rings. One more episode of 'That 70s Show' reruns and she might blow her brains out. She’s never liked downtime. Her father, he takes all the time off he can get. But it’s different with him. He’s chief of police of the biggest precinct in Chicago; Tzipporah scraped her way into the academy by the skin of her teeth. She has to work just as hard to stay on the force. Her partner during her probation period wanted her to take some time off before she got into the real work. Her drill instructor said she needed more time. 

Bullshit. 

What she needs is to not be underestimated. She’s a certified police officer, an abduction survivor, a fighter. Even if she’s spending this Thursday night fighting cramps with Motrin and sitcom TV.

Gritting her teeth against the ache, she shuffles to the front door of her one-bedroom apartment. There's steps to getting the door open: Father insisted. Unlatch the deadbolt, slide out the sliding lock, open the padlock. Check the peephole. It's- it's Moses. But he's not alone. 

Tzipporah opens the door to her boyfriend, and a girl who looks just like him.

"What-?" she asks. "Who's this?" 

"Hello to you, too," Moses replies. "Tzipporah, this is... Miriam." 

If Tzipporah didn't already know who Miriam was, Moses' tone would have tipped her off. Miriam - Moses' sister. The one who disappeared. The one he didn't know was still alive. The one he found last week; the one who had spent most of her life as a slave. 

Tzipporah stares - she didn’t get much of a look the first time.

She's... her eyes are dark and rounded. Lovely. Her face has more gentle lines than Moses’, but they share the same cheekbones, the same luscious hair. They have the same careful set to their shoulders. The same wary gaze. They could be two of the same person, but Miriam has curves. Subtle ones, but Moses said she'd been starved. Her eyes are softer, sweeter, than his are, too. 

Moses doesn't look at Tzipporah like he's welcoming her. He doesn't need to; it was Tzipporah's family that took him in when Seti and Rameses turned their backs on him. Tzipporah always welcomed him. So why does his sister look like she’s the one reaching out? 

"Hi," Tzipporah says. 

"Hello," Miriam says. Her voice is like Moses', too. Measured and low. Tzipporah crosses her arms. 

"So?" she asks. "I thought you weren't coming by tonight." Just like the five nights before. Moses cancelled on her until they both realized he didn't need to bother. Tzipporah gets it - a brother and sister magically appearing out of the muck of missing persons reports from twenty years ago? - but it would have been nice for him to call first. Or page her. She’s in sweats, for God’s sake, and her hair’s down. She hates when people see her hair down.

"I'm not," Moses answers, shrugging one shoulder in apology. "Aaron needs someone there for his remedial assessments, and the administrators Jethro found didn't want Miriam and Aaron tested at the same time. 

“Miriam can’t be alone yet. Your father and I aren’t sure yet no one’s going to retaliate for the sting last week. I need her to stay with you for tonight.” 

“Why can’t I go to your place?” 

“Your sisters found a bug at my place this morning.” 

“Why were my sisters at your's?” 

“Because your dad was there on his day off, Tzipporah.” 

Tzipporah purses her lips. “I hate when you talk to me like that.” 

“Will you let us come in?” 

“Her,” she says, pointing to Miriam. “Not you. If you have to go to this assessment so badly, go.” 

Moses has the nerve to smile. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. A peck to Tzipporah’s cheek, then he’s walking away. 

“Wait! When are you picking her up?” 

“Tomorrow,” Moses replies. “After Aaron’s sleep study. Apparently being stuck in a room of florescent lights 24-7 for a year can ruin your sleep cycle.” 

Tzipporah groans in frustration. 

Moses waves over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Miriam murmurs, once Tzipporah turns to face her. “We left Moses’ house once Ephorah showed us the bug. He said we were going out for ice cream.” 

“When was that?” Tzipporah asks, leaning against the front door. 

“This morning.” 

“Jesus.” 

Miriam looks up, wide-eyed. 

“What?” Tzipporah asks. She hates this, feeling awkward in her own place. She pays rent; she buys her own food. She worked hard for this, for the job she got to earn it. This apartment is hers, and Moses’ sister looks more at home here than she does.

Miriam ducks her head again. 

That draws a sigh from Tzipporah. They’re about the same age, Miriam and her. But instead of police academy, a loving father and sisters, Miriam got- Moses won’t tell her, exactly. But Tzipporah’s read some old files. She took statements from kids kidnapped by Seti’s men. She’s not blind. 

Why would anyone want to make innocent kids suffer like that? And why Miriam? 

Why not Tzipporah? 

Luck. And Tzip porah’s father as chief of police. Fate put the two of them where they are now: Tzipporah, with a place to live, a family to love, a boyfriend, a normal life. And Miriam, with… 

“Do you want something to eat?” Tzipporah offers. She tugs the hair tie off her wrist and throws her hair up into a ponytail to get it out of the way. “Somehow I doubt Moses took you to get ice cream.” 

Miriam smiles. “No,” she says. “We went back to the police station.” 

“Then come on,” Tzipporah orders.

Miriam follows her to the kitchen obediently, silently. 

“I’m sorry to intrude,” she says. “Moses says you’re protective of your space.” 

Tzipporah turns from the fridge, incredulous. “ _ You’re _ apologizing? He’s the one who came with no warning.”

Miriam looks away. Great.

Tzipporah can count on one hand the number of times she’s made somebody under her charge feel at ease. Two of those times are with her sisters. Reassurance, empathy - she leaves that to the older cops. But there’s no older cops here. Just her and Miriam.

“Um. How’re you doing?” 

“What?” 

“Since Moses tracked you guys down. How is it, living on the outside?” Tzipporah presses. The contents of her refrigerator - mostly sandwich toppings and old rice - pile up on the counter. It’s easy to focus on while she attempts to chat. 

“It… l- I…” 

Now that’s one thing Moses never does. No stumbling, no mumbled words. That’s what training for a life of press conferences and attention does to you.

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice?” That’s what she has to say? She’s free, for the first time, and…  _ nice _ ?

“I always knew Moses would save us.” Miriam smiles again, chin lifted high. “I knew he wouldn’t let Aaron and I stay there long. And now we’re free. He’s going to rescue all of them. I know he will.” 

Moses’ and Tzipporah’s relationship started three months ago, a year after she was abducted and sold to Seti. After her rescue, after the safeguards and the therapy and the police academy and shooting a guy through the head, she saw Moses. 

_ ‘Got a 10-10, 18. 10-33, I repeat, 10-33. Squad car 732 requesting immediate backup at 104th and Mulberry. 10-10, 10-39, 10-33. I need backup ASAP!’ _

_ Tzipporah, stay in the car. _

_ Tzipporah!  _

He was slouched against a wall, looking like a hobo and fending off EMTs. Tzipporah’s sisters rushed towards her, getting snot and tears all over her uniform. 

_ Attempted kidnapping _ , her commanding officer said later.  _ They knew your dad was chief of police, knew what route the girls took getting home from school, and were gonna hold ‘em for ransom. _

Until Moses stepped in. 

It was easy to track him down. Ask him why he did it. 

“You almost fucked me at your father’s office. Why did you fight those guys and save my sisters?” 

Moses smiled. Scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “He’s not my father.” 

They fell into bed soon after, and couldn’t stop falling. 

For all the good he’s done, though, Tzipporah can’t see Moses as some kind of savior. Not the way Miriam does right now.

Tzipporah shakes her head. 

“I’m glad to be out,” Miriam continues softly. “I am glad Moses found us.” 

“Are you going to eat any of this?” Tzipporah asks. 

The fridge is bare. Might as well clean it, with everything out. Tzipporah ducks down for cleaning supplies. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Take care of me. I can make a sandwich.” 

“I’m not making one for you.” 

“N- no, I didn’t-” 

“Relax,” Tzipporah grumbles. “I was joking.” 

Miriam ducks her head. 

Tzipporah can’t do this anymore. 

As Miriam reaches for the honey-roasted turkey, Tzipporah escapes. The bathroom shoves her reflection at her, but even her own dark-circled eyes are better than Moses’ sister’s. 

_ Please, I need water. _

No! No, god, no. 

_ They want me to dance, and- and I don’t- _

_ I know _ . 

Tzipporah shoves her hands into eyes, trying to scrub out the vision in her head, and the voice… 

_ You haven’t been here long. Someone will come for you. _

Water, cool and fresh. They wouldn’t cut the ziptie around Tzipporah’s wrists, but the girl walked free to the sink in the concrete room. Her smile - how could she smile? - was soft. She held a cracked plastic cup to Tzipporah’s lips and let her drink. It was hard to drink while crying. The girl was patient, still. 

_ God will protect you _ , she whispered. She kissed Tzipporah’s forehead. She smiled again. Then she was gone, and Tzipporah was sold, and then lights and gunshots and screams, so many screams, and Tzipporah would never, never let anyone make her feel so helpless again. 

“God _ damn _ it!” 

Tzipporah’s fists smack the laminate counter. Silence echoes after. 

“Damn it.  _ Fuck _ .” 

Miriam is out there. Standing in Tzipporah’s kitchen. Waiting for her perfect brother - Tzipporah’s perfect fucking boyfriend - to do everything for her so she can have even part of a normal life, at the age of twenty-six. And she’s sweet, kind. Beautiful.

_ I know. God will protect you. _

That voice haunted Tzipporah’s nightmares, more than the voice calling out her purchase price. The light in that cramped room was so dim… but those curls. Those hands. Those eyes. 

Tzipporah’s eyes are red-rimmed, when she looks into the mirror again. 

“Do you remember me?” Miriam asks as she slinks back to the kitchen. 

Tzipporah swipes at her eyes. “What do you think?” 

She doesn’t care what Miriam does anymore. If she’s hungry, she can eat. Tzipporah needs enough ice cream to make herself sick. 

In the freezer, there’s a pint of Ben and Jerry's, a quart of vanilla and a quart of chocolate, and some lemon sorbet. Fuck the sorbet. The last stretch of counter space available gets the ice cream, then Tzipporah heads to the pantry. 

Miriam reaches for her arm. “Are you okay?”

Tzipporah shakes her off and doesn't answer.

“...I thought you wouldn’t know.” 

“What?”  

“That it was… that I…” Miriam struggles, visibly. Tzipporah watches her eyes dart around the room. “I remember you. Everything was… fuzzy, there, but you were so clear. I saw you. And then Moses told me about you and brought me here, and…” 

They’ve both been waiting for each other to make the first move. 

“I’m sorry,” Tzipporah says. Caramel sauce, maraschinos, christmas tree-shaped sprinkles. No chocolate sauce, though. Just cocoa powder. 

“Why?” Miriam wonders. She sounds so confused; Tzipporah cracks a smile at the box of cocoa in her hands. 

“I don’t apologize often. You should take it while I’m still offering.”

“...but why-?” 

“Because I got saved, and you didn’t.” She smacks the box against the counter. “Now do you want ice cream or not?” 

Miriam watches her, wide-eyed, as she digs out a small saucepan and starts dumping sugar into it. She doesn’t ask what Tzipporah is trying to do. She doesn’t question when Tzipporah doesn’t use any measuring spoons to add cocoa powder and milk to the pot, and cranks up the heat. 

“That wasn’t your fault,” she says, finally. Whispers, more like. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does.” 

“Why?” Tzipporah shoots back, almost mocking. She bites back that pain, gnawing in her chest, and adds “You were stuck there for so much longer. Why don’t you… I mean, I don’t understand why you don’t resent me.” 

She’s never said she doesn’t, though. Maybe she’s afraid to say that. 

“I… I’m not angry with anyone.” 

Tzipporah drops her spoon. It splatters into the cocoa-milk syrup. She gets a drop on her hand. “What? You mean, the police?” 

Miriam shakes her head. She’s smiling.  _ How? _

“Not anyone. I don’t… I don’t hate anyone.” 

“What about the men who-” 

“I don’t hate them.” She’s starting to sound like Moses again. Moses at his best. Moses, the savior. But Miriam won’t meet her eyes, and clutches the edge of the kitchen counter. Her lips are pinched and white. “They… hurt me. I hate what they did to me. I wake up, and think I’m… I’m still dreaming. But I don’t hate them.I don’t… want to.” 

“You don’t want to, what, hate them?” 

Miriam shakes her head. 

“Why not? How are you- what are you going to do, now? They took so much of your  _ life _ ! You were just a kid, and now-” 

“Now I’m free.” 

Shit, she’s crying. Miriam has lifted her head, framed by those thick curls, and there’s tears in her eyes. One trembles at the corner of her eye. Tzipporah didn’t realize they were standing so close. 

“I feel so much,” Miriam whispers, watching her. “And all of it is relief. I am… I’m so glad, to be free. To know when I hoped, it wasn’t- It was in something real.” 

The tear falls. 

“And now I’m here, Tzipporah. Why would I waste time with hate?” 

Something in Tzipporah twists. Cracks. 

Crumbles, into dust. Tzipporah hates dust. 

“I don’t know,” she answers, blunt and raw. “I just thought you would.” 

Miriam sniffs, smiles, wipes her eyes. Tzipporah backs up to give her space, cursing when she sees the spoon has been consumed in the bubbly chocolate mass of her cook pot. 

“Is that chocolate?” Miriam ventures, leaning in. 

“Yes,” Tzipporah says, fishing for the spoon with another spoon. “That’s what it’s supposed to be, anyway.” 

Miriam actually giggles. “I love chocolate.” 

Their eyes meet. Still red, still exhausted. Still… 

“So you do want ice cream?” 

“Yes, please.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments!


End file.
